


Saints and Heathens

by orphan_account



Category: NASCAR RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-15
Updated: 2012-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-16 09:10:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/537815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Trevor’s 21st birthday and Carl has a present for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saints and Heathens

**Author's Note:**

> I have wanted somebody to write these two together for a while now. And eventually, I always get what I want, even if I have to make it happen myself.

Maybe it’s wrong. Maybe it’s horribly wrong of me. Maybe I should just... stay home. I should definitely just stay home. I’m a married man with two kids, and he’s... well, he’s got a perky, cute little girlfriend and a clean image that I’m sure he wants to maintain, considering he’s basically built his brand around it. And he’s just a kid. And I’m... old enough to know better. Too bad I’m also old enough to know to go get exactly what I want.  
  
I’m fine with playing in the gray areas. I wouldn’t admit that just anywhere, about just anything, but this...  
  
Tonight, I’m taking what I want, because I’m tired of resisting the pull of temptation.  
  
Maybe he’s the forbidden fruit.  
  
And maybe I’m picking from that tree tonight, consequences be damned.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
As we’re waiting to qualify for the 500, I lean back against his car, watching as he talks to a camera crew. They mention that it’s his birthday, his 21st, and I chuckle softly to myself. If only they knew what I have planned for him... but they don’t. No one does, because there are some secrets I am very, very good at keeping.  
  
“Yeah, we’re throwing him a big party,” I grin, and his eyes widen. He wasn’t expecting anyone to throw him a party. Well, he probably wasn’t expecting anyone other than his family and his little group of church friends to throw him one. The nervous smile that he gives me says that he’s trying desperately to come up with a reason to say no.  
  
He can try, but he’s not getting out of this. Again, I’ve been waiting too long.  
  
And in the end, I guess he can’t think of a reason to say no.  
  
We agree to all meet up at a local bar at 10pm.  
  
His friends say they’ll bring a cake. I try not to laugh in their faces. A cake. In a bar. For his 21st birthday. I vaguely wonder if it will feature Spider-Man or even possibly Lightning McQueen.  
  
~~~~~~~  
  
I get to the bar at 10:05, and find him and his friends at a table in the corner, crowded around, yes, a Spider-Man cake. I smirk just slightly, but catch myself before any of them notice. I’m surprised just how many of his friends have showed up; I’d have thought they’d be afraid to come out to a bar.  
  
Maybe the presence of so many people should change my plans, but it doesn’t. The small bottle of lube is practically burning a hole in my pocket, but I know I’ve got to take my time here. This can’t be rushed. I don’t want him freaking out; I want him to be warm, soft putty in my hands when this happens.  
  
So I say my hellos to everyone, give him one of those one-armed bro hugs that guys are so fond of, and try not to let my cock betray me in front of all these people. Somehow, it doesn’t.  
  
While they’re lighting the candles on his cake, I go and order several pitchers of margaritas for the table. I’d prefer to skip straight to the tequila, but something tells me this crowd isn’t really the type for shots. Some of them accept the margaritas happily, and some of them stick with the pitcher of water. No matter; I pour the birthday boy a glass full and stick it in front of him. At first it appears he’s going to try to say no, but I shake my head and laugh.  
  
“Come on, Trev. You only turn 21 once. It’s not like you’re breaking any laws here. Drink up!”  
  
He looks around at the table and realizes that several of his friends are enjoying the frosty beverages, and he shrugs his shoulders. “I guess you’re right, Carl. Might as well.” He raises the glass to his lips and takes a sip, then makes a face.  
  
“Wow, that’s... interesting,” he says, and I try to contain my surprise.  
  
Is it really possible this kid has _never_ had alcohol before?  
  
No matter... I’ve gotta get him drinking the thing, regardless.  
  
“The first sip’s always a little rough. Go ahead, have some more. You start to taste the lime more, and the liquor less.”  
  
He doesn’t look completely convinced, but he takes another sip anyway. And then another.  
  
And then he gives me that million-dollar smile. “You’re right. It tastes better now.”  
  
Current score? Carl 1, Goody two shoes crowd, 0.  
  
Michael McDowell pushes the cake in front of him, and everyone sings and urges him to make a wish before blowing out the candles. Again, I find myself trying to control my smirk.  
  
The cake gets cut. The cake gets eaten. A few of his friends say their goodbyes and leave, claiming early morning flights out of Daytona.  
  
I keep nursing the same Natty Light I’ve had since I got here. I look up, and Trevor’s on his third margarita. He’s loosened up a lot, and I like it. McDowell, unfortunately, does not.  
“Hey Trev... you might want to slow down a bit,” he says, his voice full of concern.  
  
I laugh, give him a big grin, and try not to let my aggravation bleed through when I say, “Awwh, come on Mike! Let the boy live it up a little. He’s only going to have one 21st birthday. It’s all good. I can get him back home safely.”  
  
“But we have that flight in the morning...” So help me, if he doesn’t shut the hell up...  
  
I give him my big _Awwh, shucks!_ grin that always gets me out of trouble.  
  
“It’s okay, Mike. I’ve got my plane. I’ll give him a lift home in the morning.” Before he can argue that I live in Missouri, I continue. “I have to do some stuff at the shop anyway.”  
  
That seems to satisfy him, and he nods. “Well, okay...” He looks over at his wife, and then back to Trevor. “Jami and I had probably better get going... McNugget’s babysitter was only staying ‘til midnight.” McDowell hugs him, and Jami gives him a big smile and a squeeze on the shoulder.  
  
As I watch them walk out of the bar, I want to scream with joy. Alone at last.  
  
“Well, I guess we should think about packing it in,” Trevor says, looking around at all the empty glasses on the table, and I shake my head.  
  
“Come on, man. Like I said, you only turn 21 once. Let’s go sit at the bar and have some shots.” I give him a friendly smile, the one that says _trust me, I just want you to have a good time,_ and he smiles back, and follows me over to the bar. We take seats on the stools, and I ask the bartender to bring us tequila shots and some limes.  
  
“What’s the lime for?” he asks naively, and I just chuckle softly.  
  
“I’ll show you,” I say, reaching for the salt shaker as the bartender sets our shots and a bowl full of lime wedges in front of us. “Hold your arm out like this, wrist up,” I say, demonstrating by laying my right arm against the bar. He follows suit, and I shake some salt out on his wrist, and then onto mine. He raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t say anything. “Okay, now lick the salt like this,” I say, and lick the salt off of my wrist, the tip of my tongue flicking over the veins there, making me shudder just a bit. He does it too, even though he looks confused. “Now... slam your shot down,” I say, grabbing my shot glass, bringing it to my lips, and quickly swallowing it all. He does it too, coughing as he sets his glass back on the table. I laugh, and grab a lime wedge, and he does the same, still coughing a bit. I put the wedge in my mouth and bite, and I don’t even have to prompt him this time for him to play follow the leader.  
  
I put the wedge down on the bar and grin. “Want another?”  
  
For a split second, I think he’s going to say no, and then he breaks into a huge grin. “Sure! What the hell, it’s like you said-- I’m only going to turn 21 once.”  
  
“That’s the spirit!” I yell, and motion to the bartender to keep the shots coming.  
  
One tequila.  
  
Two tequila.  
  
Three tequila.  
  
On the fourth shot, he’s loose enough I decide to try something different. Instead of sprinkling the salt on my own wrist, I sprinkle it on his. He giggles as I wrap my hand around the spot just above where I’ve salted, and gives me a curious look. I shrug, then lick the salt from his wrist. And he may not want to... he may be fighting it just a bit... but I feel the tiniest little tremble when my tongue touches his skin. He likes it in spite of who he thinks he is. That bit of knowledge makes me almost giddy as I take my shot, then bite the lime. The way he’s looking at me right now, especially the way he’s watching as I wrap my lips around the shot glass, tells me this is not going to require as much convincing as I thought it would.  
  
I look at his still full shot glass, and the salt shaker, and his eyes follow mine. I know he’s thinking about it, but he hesitates. I take pity on him since it is, after all, his birthday, and shake salt onto my wrist, then hold it up to his mouth. He doesn’t just lick it off. He wraps his lips around my wrist and licks, then kisses it before pulling away and grabbing his shot glass, cheeks bright red, and I know it’s not just from the alcohol. He’s giving himself away; he wants this. He doesn’t want to want it, and it’s probably scaring the hell out of him right now that he does. He grabs for a lime, fingers shaking as he brings it up to his mouth.  
  
 _Oh yes, he’s ready now._  
  
I stand up, and fake a bit of a stumble. “I should probably get you home... just gonna hit the lavatory first.”  
  
Trevor, ever helpful and kind even when drunk, stands beside me, even though he’s swaying on his feet, and says, “I’ll help you. Don’t want you falling. Jack would kill me if you got injured when you’ve got the pole for the 500.” Leaning on each other and stumbling, laughing as we go, bumping into the walls in the narrow hallway, we finally make it to the bathroom. I am absolutely delighted to find that no one else is in here, and that the door has a lock. Trevor stumbles over to a urinal and starts to relieve himself, and I slide the door lock closed.  
  
He finishes up and washes his hands, and I just watch. As he tosses his paper towel in the overflowing wastebasket, he cocks his head to the side. “Didn’t you need to--?”  
  
I cross the small room quickly, shove him back against the wall, and my mouth is on his, silencing him as I slide my tongue past his lips. His eyes go wide in surprise, and his arms come up to shove at mine, to try to push me away.  
  
Even as he does that, he moans, and his hips move against mine. Like I said, he doesn’t want to want it, but his body... it refuses to deny what it wants.  
  
I let my tongue explore his mouth, run it along the back of his perfect teeth, up against the roof of his mouth, tasting the combination of tequila and lime and birthday cake icing from the evening’s festivities.  
  
And then... then his tongue tentatively follows mine, and the hands that were pushing against my arms are curling around them now, pulling me closer. If my mouth wasn’t otherwise occupied, I would be wearing my biggest smirk right now.  
  
Now that he’s willing to admit in some small way that he wants this, I slide a hand between us, rub it over the crotch of his jeans. He gasps, and I feel his cock stir to life. This is so much easier than I thought it would be. I reach up, pull one of his hands off my arm, and bring it to rest on my belt buckle. For a second or two, I think he’s going to disappoint me, but then I feel him start to work on unbuckling it. _Good boy._  
  
I quickly unzip his jeans, shove them down, and slide my hand inside his boxers, wrapping my fingers around the base of his cock. He pauses in his attempt to get my belt undone for a moment, his head rolling back against the wall, groaning as I start to stroke him with a firm grip. Jesus... don’t tell me the kid’s never even jerked off. Finally, he get it open, gets my pants unzipped, and then...  
  
“Um... you’re... you’re...” He stares down at my cock, watching as it jumps a bit under his gaze.  
  
“Yeah. Laundry day,” I smirk, then yank his boxers down to his feet. “Now you are too.” I twist my wrist as I stroke him, and his knees nearly buckle. I shouldn’t tease him. I shouldn’t, but that’s... just too much. “Come on now, Trev... you trying to tell me you’ve never choked the chicken before?” He turns bright red, and I have my answer. “It’s okay. Just call it a night of firsts.”  
  
He wraps his hand around my cock, and moves his hand like he’s afraid it’s going to bite. It’s... cute. Like a 13-year-old just figuring out that he can touch himself and make himself feel good. I groan as he runs his thumb over the head, and glance up at his face. He’s smiling now, pleased that he’s figured something out.  
  
He’s hard as a rock in my hand, and I don’t want him coming before I do, so I quickly spin him around against the wall. “Hey, what--” he protests, and I put my hand between his shoulder blades and push him harder into the wall.  
  
“Shhh,” I whisper, and roll my hips against him, letting my cock slide along the cleft of his ass. He moans, and pushes his hips back against me. I chuckle softly, and slide my hand down his back, trailing my fingers along his spine. “Patience, Rookie,” I whisper against his ear, then tug on the lobe with my teeth. He moans and pushes his hips back against me again.  
  
“Not a rookie anymore...” he says, drawing out each word as he rubs his ass against my cock.  
  
I bend down and retrieve the bottle of lube from my pocket, spreading a liberal amount of it on my fingers and cock. He’s whimpering now, and the whimpers get louder as I rub my slicked up fingers over his asshole. “Relax...” I say, coaxing just the tip of a finger in, easing it past the tight ring of muscle as he cries out just a bit. “Just breathe... breathe through it. It only hurts at first.” He nods, takes a deep breath and blows it out, and I ease my finger in to the knuckle, again giving him a second to get used to the intrusion. I start to move my finger slowly... and it doesn’t take long before he’s moving back against it, mewling softly, obviously wanting more.  
  
I remove my finger, and he whines in disappointment. “No... it was just starting to feel good...”  
  
I smirk and position my cock against him. “Relax,” I say again, then press up against him. “Relax.” I ease in again, listen as he whimpers, feel his body tense at the introduction of something much larger than my finger.  
  
“Ow, it hurts! Oh... it hurts so much...” I ignore him. I expected that, because the first time always hurts, and if he misunderstood and thought I meant it only hurts the very first time something’s inside of you, well... his mistake, not mine.  
  
I push in further, feel his muscles clench around me, and I close my eyes and moan reverently. It feels so fucking good to be inside something so tight. When I’m completely sheathed inside him, I still my movement, and reach around to stroke his cock. He starts to moan softly, and then his hips start to move, and that’s my cue. I pull back, then push back in, over and over, fuck his ass with the same rhythm I stroke his cock. His whimpers of pain turn to whimpers of pleasure; instead of complaints of pain, he begs. He begs for harder, faster, deeper... and I oblige. I fuck him with abandon, my balls slapping against his ass as I squeeze and jerk his cock roughly.  
  
“Come for me, Trevor... let go...” I pant against his ear, knowing I’m close. I can feel his body shaking against mine, and I move my hand faster, until his whole body tenses and he grunts, coating the already filthy wall in front of him with his come. I grab his hips in both my hands, dig my fingers in as I bury myself in him hard and deep, moaning as I feel my own release hit.  
  
I hold him for just a second, place a quick kiss to his shoulder, and then pull out of him with a pop. He turns to watch me as I wet a paper towel and quickly clean myself up. I pull my pants up, and he gets the hint, finally.  
  
I lean against the door as I watch him clean himself up, then wipe at the wall, trying to clean it too. I shake my head. He honestly has no idea that he’s not the first person to come against that wall, and he probably won’t be the last. He straightens his clothes up, looks in the mirror and nods at himself, then turns to me.  
  
“Come on,” I say, putting an arm around his shoulder as I slide the door lock open. “Let’s get you home, birthday boy.”


End file.
